


Colours

by jusrecht



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-11
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2073474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dino and Hibari in various colours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paint It Black

  
When the bathroom’s door swung open and Dino walked out, he looked a different man.  
  
A few years back, Hibari would have blamed the green jackets and the Cavallone boss’ despicable attachment to them. They all but made him look _wrong_ in any other clothing. Now, he stood by the bedroom door and recognised the immaculately pressed black suit and matching silk tie for what they really were.  
  
Dino did not look at him as he padded across the room to retrieve a pair of socks and polished black dress shoes from the closet. The whip came next, a sleek length of deadliness, only used during special occasions and certainly nothing like the old acquaintance of Hibari’s tonfa. The handguns were a pair, holstered at each side of his hips as spare magazines went into inner pockets  
  
“You don’t have to come with me,” Dino suddenly said. The length of the room made it impossible to interpret the look on his face, but the emptiness in his voice was clear enough.  
  
“Says the person who plays dressing up every single time,” Hibari scoffed.  
  
Dino shot him a small, mirthless smile. “It’s a ritual, Kyouya.”  
  
“Get used to it already.”  
  
“I hope I never will.”  
  
The mocking word was at the tip of Hibari’s tongue, but did not make it past his lips. There was nothing herbivorous about the Cavallone boss right now and Hibari recognised a worthy carnivore like the smell of blood. A pity that this side of Dino would never stand in front of him as a foe; it would have been interesting.  
  
He closed his eyes and said it anyway. "Herbivore."  
  
Dino smiled that empty smile again but replied nothing. The black leather gloves were second to last, followed by the insignia of the Cavallone Family on his right middle finger. Once he had finished, only the brazen colour of his hair stood out—but even that, Hibari decided, would soon be spoiled, the thick redness of blood ever unforgiving.  
  
“Let’s go," Dino said and walked toward the door, fingers curled gracefully around his whip. Hibari nearly smirked.  
  
When Don Cavallone wore black, he dressed to kill.  
  
  
 ** _End_**  
  



	2. The Many Colours of a Bruise

  
The first group was old; bruises which had long since faded under probing fingertips, relics from tripping and falling down three sets of stairs, concussed head and split lips and broken bones. These were the wounds Dino inflicted to himself, accidentally or not, and the number had significantly decreased over the years as the Family’s dependence grew into a concept in his mind instead of a solid, physical presence.  
  
The second group belonged to Hibari Kyouya. These came from spars, from mood swings and temper tantrums. Hibari read each and every one of them like entries in a diary. The bruises decorating Dino’s upper right arm testified to yesterday’s fight, patches of redness blooming into dark blue. The bite marks on his neck were from last week, but the one on his left palm, the one deep enough to draw blood which Hibari had contentedly licked clean, had been there since three months ago. As for the red scratches down his chest, last night was entirely to blame.  
  
This scar, however, belonged to neither group.  
  
Hibari frowned. The moonlight was bright enough for him to make sure that he did _not_ recognise it. This was not his mark—and in any case, tonfas did not cut, only bruised. This had been a clean stab of a thin but sharp blade to the abdomen.  
  
This, he decided with a scowl, was a part of the third group. He hated that group, almost as much as he hated Dino for allowing them to happen in the first place. There had been many: a gunshot wound from when he had been but a boy of seven, three others when the previous don had died, a few more between then and now. Some only grazed his skin, others ripped his flesh and punctured his bones. Knife wounds were less common, but the few which had left their marks were irremovable.  
  
Glaring at the newest of the flock, Hibari bent down slightly and bit the skin around the scar, hard. Dino’s surprised yelp did nothing to ease his irritation, and neither did the grip on his shoulder, entirely too firm for a man who had just been jolted out of sleep.  
  
“What the hell are you doing?”   
  
Hibari did not deign the question with an answer. He turned away and buried himself in the sheets, fully intent to ignore everything for the moment.  
  
Tomorrow he would find out more about that scar and the person responsible—and _then_ he would act.  
  
  
 ** _End_**


	3. Every Walk of Life

  
His mother always said that there were two kinds of love worth having. The first was a love at its most intense, fuelled by youth. The second was a love at its fullest, tempered by age.  
  
At twenty-two, Dino thought he had found the first—and if he found it in a fifteen-year-old boy (a _fifteen_ -year-old _homicidal_ boy), at least he had broken so many laws being what he was that to add another to the list scarcely made a difference. This was a rollercoaster ride, frantic touches of awkward hands on heated skin, rough pulls and pushes, knees and thighs and aching pressure as the heat of sun-scorched tiles soaked into their bones. Kyouya would claw his back and break his skin with teeth and nails alike, and the small noises he tried to keep down while his throat wanted to push them _out_ were enough to make Dino grin and come with a half-choked laughter.   
  
Later, he would send roses or what gift as struck his fancy to the office of the Disciplinary Committee, and would continue to do so every week until he could steal a chance to visit again.   
  
–  
  
At thirty-two, he still found himself in a similar situation if different settings. Instead of school rooftops, there were hotel rooms and soft bed with comfortable sheets to get lost in. Instead of roses, there were boxes of beautiful kimonos and sleek, perfectly tailored Italian suits to replace the quota of ripped and bloodstained clothes his lover would fill every week. Granted, Kyouya would always leave before morning crept in—except when Dino managed to impose his presence in the Cloud Guardian’s domain—but he still appeared, all blazing anger and rippling Cloud flames when rumours of the Cavallone Family getting into a spot of trouble and their don being wounded in a fray got around.  
  
It was one of those times where Dino was torn between feeling alarmed and ridiculously happy, but he settled for the latter when Kyouya kissed him with a growl, tasting of blood and something sharp like jealousy.  
  
–  
  
At forty-two, he had developed a habit to reach over to the other side of the bed when he woke up. It was not quite a fifty-fifty chance, but Dino liked to start the day with little hopes a warm glow between his fingers. The mornings when Kyouya _was_ there always brought a smile to his lips. He could not get enough of the warmth and the contented feeling bursting in his chest at the sight of his lover asleep, or padding slowly to the bathroom in a loose t-shirt, hair mussed and eyes barely slits. If that wasn't a miracle, he didn't know what was.  
  
As it happened, the demand for him to take a wife had quietened over the years. Dino just wasn't sure if his stubbornness eventually paid off or the rest of the Family simply backpedalled under the Cloud Guardian’s deadly glare. Either way, he was happy.  
  
–  
  
At fifty-two, he had been so used to Kyouya’s presence that to discover him _not there_ some mornings threw him off-balance. Absence was marked in little things, like the difference of a voice over the line, a comment which went unsaid for lack of a listener, a solitary dinner with one set of cutleries instead of a pair. The incongruence made him think about love; the second, he still remembered the hum of his mother’s voice, was a love to grow old and grey with as they walked the rest of the road life still kept hidden ahead. When Kyouya returned six weeks later, Dino pressed a kiss to the base of his neck and felt the skin, the warmth, the pulse.  
  
Every year on the fifth of May, he would give Kyouya a Cloud ring as a birthday present. This year, inside the box sat a simple one, white gold with their names inscribed within.   
  
Looking back, he wondered how he could have ever thought of walking down that road with any other person.  
  
  
 ** _End_**  
  



End file.
